Her very candor had betrayed her.  She would go away with these monstrous captors, endure them, even flatter them, until she and they were far removed from the island.  And then—­she would kill herself.  In her innocence she imagined that self-destruction, under such circumstances, was a pardonable offence.  She only gave a life to save a life, and greater love than this is not known to God or man.

The sailor, in a tempest of wrath and wild emotion, had it in his mind to compel her into reason, to shake her, as one shakes a wayward child.

He rose to his knees with this half-formed notion in his fevered brain.  Then he looked at her, and a mist seemed to shut her out from his sight.  Was she lost to him already?  Was all that had gone before an idle dream of joy and grief, a wizard’s glimpse of mirrored happiness and vague perils?  Was Iris, the crystal-souled—­thrown to him by the storm-lashed waves—­to be snatched away by some irresistible and malign influence?

In the mere physical effort to assure himself that she was still near to him he gathered her up in his strong hands.  Yes, she was there, breathing, wondering, palpitating.  He folded her closely to his breast, and, yielding to the passionate longings of his tired heart, whispered to her—­

“My darling, do you think I can survive your loss?  You are life itself to me.  If we have to die, sweet one, let us die together.”

Then Iris flung her arms around his neck.

“I am quite, quite happy now,” she sobbed brokenly.  “I didn’t—­imagine—­it would come—­this way, but—­I am thankful—­it has come.”

[Illustration:  LOVE, TREMENDOUS IN ITS POWER, UNFATHOMABLE IN ITS MYSTERY, HAD CAST ITS SPELL OVER THEM.]

For a little while they yielded to the glamour of the divine knowledge that amidst the chaos of eternity each soul had found its mate.  There was no need for words.  Love, tremendous in its power, unfathomable in its mystery, had cast its spell over them.  They were garbed in light, throned in a palace built by fairy hands.  On all sides squatted the ghouls of privation, misery, danger, even grim death; but they heeded not the Inferno; they had created a Paradise in an earthly hell.

Then Iris withdrew herself from the man’s embrace.  She was delightfully shy and timid now.

“So you really do love me?” she whispered, crimson-faced, with shining eyes and parted lips.

He drew her to him again and kissed her tenderly.  For he had cast all doubt to the winds.  No matter what the future had in store she was his, his only; it was not in man’s power to part them.  A glorious effulgence dazzled his brain.  Her love had given him the strength of Goliath, the confidence of David.  He would pluck her from the perils that environed her.  The Dyak was not yet born who should rend her from him.

He fondled her hair and gently rubbed her cheek with his rough fingers.  The sudden sense of ownership of this fair woman was entrancing.  It almost bewildered him to find Iris nestling close, clinging to him in utter confidence and trust.